“And who are you?”
The puppy yelped and turned in Marino’s grip, maybe because he was holding the little critter too tightly. Nervousness behind a façade of cool disdain. Sebastiano smiled. “Please, Mr. Marino.”
“Who are you?”
“Sebastiano Beccaria.” This was a dangerous moment, but seemingly, Vince hadn’t told his boss about his visit, or the name would definitely set off a bell in Marino’s head. “I’ll introduce myself in more detail once we’ve moved off the street.”
“Sure.” Marino looked him up and down. “Hotel lobby? Over there?”
“I’d say that’s almost traditional.” Sebastiano smiled again.
Marino nodded, set down the bag on the hood of the Porsche, fiddled his keys out and put the bag in the car. He pulled out a leash and clipped it to the little dog’s leather col ar. “Can’t have him chew up my seat,” he said and grabbed the puppy by the scruff of his neck.
“Sensible choice.”
“You a dog person?”
“My wife is.” Sebastiano shrugged. “But ours is a mixed breed, some Schnauzer in there.”
“Mixed breed, eh?” Marino regarded him up and down again.
“But you’re still Italian.”
“Yes.” No use denying it. Not if it created that odd, artificial familiarity. “After you.”
They walked down the street, entered the Hilton and settled near the hotel bar, its large windows allowing them to watch the traffic and the people outside. Marino’s Porsche was within line of sight, too. “What can I get you?” Sebastiano asked.
“Bowl of water for the dog. I’ll have a cappuccino.”
“Back in a moment.” Sebastiano walked to the bar to relay the order, watching Marino get settled in and get the puppy settled in, too. The animal tried to trap Marino with its leash, exploring this way and that. Maybe not the greatest timing—the puppy was already attracting attention. And why not? A handsome, rich man with an adorable puppy. Irene would just love that.
He returned to the leather chairs in the corner, reassured that nobody would be able to listen in. There simply wasn’t enough going on here at this time of day. “Coffees are coming shortly.”
Marino glanced down at his legs, then, firmly, set his heel down on the leash, radically restricting the animal’s roaming zone. “What are you, a Fed?”
“I note the ‘what’ rather than the ‘who,’ and I do wonder if you’re going to be antagonistic.” Sebastiano sat down and leaned forward, mimicking Marino’s posture. Building rapport. Psychological tricks.
Marino gave a laugh and briefly lifted his hands. “Fine. Then
who
are you?”
Not antagonistic. Marino was playing along, even admitting, via body language, that he’d committed a gaffe. “Sebastiano Beccaria, US Attorney.”
Marino’s easy, casual mask slipped for a whole moment. Had he been drinking, he would have spilled his coffee, or spit it out.
Sebastiano leaned back and pointedly watched the waitress bring their coffees and put them down, then return to set a steel bowl in front of the dog. The puppy sniffed at it.
He thanked her and waited for her to go and give him the privacy they needed. “You see, we’re in a public place, not attracting any attention, apart from, of course, that adorable dog. A present for your wife?”
Marino glanced down at the puppy as if he’d just seen it for the first time. “Cut the small talk. What do you want?”
“I’m here as a friend.”
“I don’t have friends in law enforcement.”
“Peter Thomson would certainly disagree.”
“Why?”
“The head of police you’ve been paying off all these years. Of course, before you get all worked up over it, we haven’t yet traced the money back to you.”
“And you won’t,” Marino said, teeth clenched.
“I’m working several angles right now, Marino. Thomson is going to go down, but there’s also a number of open killings in this city. I’m beginning to see a pattern, and you’re part of it.”
Marino reached down to run his fingers over the dog’s coat. “You going to bring charges, or just talk about it? I’d like to meet my lawyer, then. Maybe we can play golf together, all three of us.”
“I don’t play golf.” Sebastiano touched the breast of his suit jacket.
“May I?”
“I don’t think you’ll pull a gun on me. Go ahead.” Marino leaned back in his chair, but watched him carefully.
Not a gun. Something a lot more deadly. Sebastiano pulled a manila envelope free and opened it, then put it on the table. “The Feds were originally going to take the Russians down, but it seems you already did that. Now, they’re wondering what force has rubbed out the Russians, and they’ve arrived at you and your friends. I’ve had a chat with ‘Rude Boy’ Mancini. Friend of your father’s. His
consigliere,
too.”
“My father’s dead, so are you going to smear him now?”
“You really can’t smear tar.” Sebastiano met Marino’s eyes, saw the calculation behind his eyes, saw him think. Good. This wasn’t a man who’d attack unthinkingly, destroying everything in his path.
“But I know you stepped in as head of what we call the Marino clan.
Your father groomed you for the role, and his old friends helped lift you into position and kept your back free. Seems you’ve been decent enough at your job—no trouble, no Federal attention, everybody’s making money. Everybody’s happy.”
“Office fantasies, but I’ll indulge you,” Marino said.
“Thank you, that’s very kind.” Sebastiano smiled again, finding he was enjoying himself. Oddly, this whole scene made it all worthwhile— from his obsession, to the travel, to the long hours. Getting up early to work the files while the world wasn’t awake yet to distract him.
“Then, a Federal agent gets killed. The Feds are really upset and now they’re concentrating on you. All the cameras, microphones, all the cloak and dagger stuff—already in the city, all paperwork filed away neatly. So they look into your organization, start to draw relationship maps and take a lot of photos while your people meet and plan and run their businesses.”
Marino reached for his coffee, but the motion didn’t look entirely natural. More like something he should be doing to show how relaxed he was while listening to what could quite possibly lock him away for a very long time. He sipped, his hands steady, and put the cup down again.
“Now, during that type of very broad sweep, you kick up a lot of dust and dirt. Like a house that hasn’t been cleaned for a long time. Cleaners tend to clean up everything, even touching things they might not be welcome to touch. But Feds are nothing if not thorough.” Sebastiano reached into the envelope, pulled out the photos, turned them around and fanned them out over the table between them.
Marino grew pale, but it might have been anger. Or shock. He wasn’t quite that easy to read. “I see.”
“I didn’t take these, but the Fed who handed me this envelope, he said ‘You have to see this’—that’s a pretty decent coup, isn’t it?”
Marino stared at the photos, left to right, the whole series. He probably saw that his face was recognizable, and that the other person in the photo was male, too. On his lap, riding him. On his knees, sucking him off. But the most damning of all was that deep passionate kiss. “This doesn’t prove I’m a criminal.”
“No, it proves only that you have a male lover.”
Marino looked up with a hint of irony. “It means I sometimes fuck men.”
“So, that a rentboy?”
Marino shrugged. “It’s complicated.”
“I bet. Especially for a married man.” Sebastiano pushed them back together, leaving the one with the kiss on top of the pile. “Does your wife know?”
Marino waved the question off. “Spiteful little asshole, are you?”
Sebastiano scoffed. “Let’s stay civil.”
Marino ground his teeth together, looking every bit the caged predator behind his yuppie façade. “So, what do you want?”
“No. We’re not at that stage yet.”
“Yeah, I cut the gloating stage short. Sorry, my bad.” Marino gave him a poisonous stare. “Please, continue.”
Sebastiano couldn’t help it, he was a little bit impressed by Marino’s guts and intelligence, even though it masqueraded as passive-aggressiveness. The man thought well on his feet, and Sebastiano tended to like that in his opponents. “Now, these photos prove only something about your sexual orientation. But it’s not illegal to be gay.
It’s not even illegal to cheat on your wife. And while he looks young, he’s most likely completely legal.”
Marino sat straight up in his chair. “Leave him out of it.”
Ouch. First weakness. So it wasn’t a rentboy at al . Or maybe he was a regular customer. “Who’s the young man?”
“He under investigation, too?”
“I’ll take what I can get.”
“Then concentrate on me. If you’re after what you believe is the head of a crime family, why mess around with outsiders?”
“He’s your weakness.”
“What else do you have?”
Nothing yet, but soon.
He wouldn’t get through on that topic.
He looked down at the image, a ful -bodied hug, a tight, deep kiss, closed eyes, the younger man mostly naked, Marino mostly dressed.
It did look terribly intimate, much more so than the blowjob. He was a lover, not a whore.
“Okay, I’ll let that one slide. I’m grateful you’re still here, too. You haven’t yet threatened me, either.”
Marino waved his hand again. “Yeah, I noticed. What else do you have?”
“Now, this is evidence. But as they teach you in law school on the first day, there’s permissible evidence in court, and non-permissible evidence. This here is not permissible. This is just dust our big Federal broom has kicked up.”
“Lucky you were there to catch it,” Marino sneered.
“Lucky indeed.”
Marino was the first mafioso Sebastiano actually liked. The civilized layer and emotional vulnerability made for a welcome change from trying to pick his way through the glaciers other mafiosi put up in self-defense when their puny egos and fake honor were challenged. “This doesn’t mean, though, that I can’t use them, if you know what I mean.”
“You’re not seriously trying to catch me offering a bribe to a US
Attorney. You can’t think I’m that fucking stupid.”
Yep, he definitely liked him. “No. The time for bribing is over, but I’m willing to cut you a deal.”
Marino nodded. “What’s your plan? I’ll see if I can accommodate it.”
“The plan is quite simple. These photos here . . . I have no use for them. I’ll find out who your lover is, maybe question him.”
“That wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“He’s . . . he won’t answer any questions. My best bet is, he’ll kill you.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Marino shook his head. “He’s not good with anticipating consequences. He’ll just do it. And I don’t want him to die.”
“You’re pretty fond of him, aren’t you?”
Marino shook his head, refusing to answer the question. Of course, that was an answer all by itself.
“See, nothing stops me leaking these to the press. Society pages. Married Italian Millionaire Meets Sexy Lover in Love Nest.”
Sebastiano lifted his hands and traced the imaginary headline. “It would be worth a story for a tabloid. I don’t think it would make the national news, but in this city? Absolutely.”
Marino stared at him and at the photo. “You’d do that.”
“Of course, your wife would be shocked. And if you’re just a civilian with wholly legitimate business interests, that’s the end of the story. You buy your wife a nice piece of jewelry to apologize, ditch the boy toy, and life goes on as normal. But if you’re a
man of honor
, that’s not the end of it. Your friends, your associates, your underboss, every made man in this city and anywhere else will get triggered in their ugly little homophobic heads. As a
boss
, you’d be ruined.”
Marino closed his eyes and blew out a long breath, thinking for several moments. The moments stretched into a minute, and Sebastiano took a sip from his lukewarm coffee.
“You’d get slapped with the mother of all lawsuits if I end up harassed or injured because you disclosed my sexual orientation.”
He did have a good working knowledge of the law. Certainly better than expected. Marino was good; like any wild horse about to be broken, he first tried every escape plan he could think of. “We both know that injury or harassment are fairly mild scenarios at that point. And who will bring the lawsuit? Your wife? The one you’ve been cheating on? She might actually be quite happy when you vanish. No body means no funeral.”
Well, okay, he was pressing the Joey D’Amato button a bit hard now.
“I understand.” Marino groaned and stared at the photo, lips pressed together. What was he thinking? That his lover had destroyed him? Or maybe that the kiss had been worth the price.
“So, I’m here at a really early stage in my investigation. The press isn’t involved yet. Nobody really is. It’s just you and me. And the little guy there. What’s his name?”
“No name yet,” Marino said and shook his head. “You would leak this to the press and see me killed.”
Sebastiano nodded. “I would. Saves the state a lot of money, too.
I know you’re guilty as sin. If you’d kept it in your pants, you’d be safe.”
“Yeah, so it’s my own goddamned fault. You’re a cold bastard, Beccaria.” Marino rubbed his face. “Shit.”
Time to offer the horse a bit to chew on and a rein. “It doesn’t have to happen. Your secret, your marriage . . . can all be safe. While I know what you are, I don’t have to destroy you.”
Marino lifted a hand and looked on the verge of getting up. “I shouldn’t listen to anything. Not without a lawyer.”
“I promise, all this is just a friendly chat. No wires, no witnesses, just you and me talking about your life.”
Marino cast him another stare that would have seared the fuzz off a peach. “What’s the offer?”
“You come to me, voluntarily, with all the evidence, names, all the dirty secrets, everything. Where the money went, how it got there, who earned it for you. The names and identities of everybody involved in your operation. You sell the whole damn thing, and you’ll walk away free.”